


the lawyer, the witch and the minotaur

by arimabat



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon deaths, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Contracts, Demons, F/F, Hell, I don't have anything against Daft Punk I swear, Paperwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 14:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17163425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arimabat/pseuds/arimabat
Summary: Tara has gotten used to being dead.Which is why she’s surprised when a strange lawyer drags her out of limbo and along on a mission to reverse a magic spell.It’s all confusing and Tara has no clue what to do. But she is quickly getting the sense that there’s more to this woman than meets the eye.Buffyverse Femslash Secret Santa gift for @aesthetically-turnt (Tumblr)





	the lawyer, the witch and the minotaur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyattsknope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyattsknope/gifts).



> I enjoyed myself way too much with this - you can find me on tumblr and dreamwidth at @arimabat

The thing is…

The thing is that Tara has been dead for a while. All things considered, it’s not too bad. Well, she would rather not be dead. Wouldn’t most people? And she had been quite young. And it had all been so very sudden, with Tara standing in the room with Willow - _her_ Willow, reconciled and happy and _whole_ for the first time in forever. She had felt the bullet, in a weird, disembodied kind of way. Thinking back, she wonders whether she had died the moment the bullet impacted. There was an _after-bullet_ : in a vague sort of way she can remember falling down and Willow being there and weeping, but all the pain she would imagine came with a bullet just kind of… didn’t.

And then she was dead.

But now, it’s all soft. And comforting, because there’s nothing here to  _discomfort_  her. It’s not as much fun as being alive was. It doesn’t hurt either, which is nice. She doesn’t understand exactly what this is, where she is and where she’s going. If she’s going anywhere. There are no gates, no old white guy with a beard. No demons and hellfire either, which she’s sure would come as a surprise to some people. But it is peaceful, and she is grateful for that.

She does miss Willow, though. She hopes that everything turned out all right. Then again, Willow never needed anyone, least of all Tara, to protect her.

* * *

The thing is that all of this changed. Much like being wrenched out of life in the first place, this is sudden too. That vague nothingness that had surrounded Tara became _something_ \- and it’s hard to explain because there isn’t really anything to look at. No swirl of colours, no white blankness either. But now, the nothingness has solidified. It has become a door.

And Tara sees it, even though there shouldn’t really be a Tara who is able to see it. It’s all very confusing, but the door somehow has shifted her perspective. As if the door being something, that forces her to be _something_ too. And she’s staring at the door. Because she can see it. She can _see_.

That’s when the door opens. That’s when Tara sees the woman standing there, dressed in what she imagines to be quite a fancy suit, with a mane of brown hair falling down and curling up again, looking distinctly unruffled as if this is something she does every day when she stretches out a hand into the nothingness and the shiny pink lips stretch out into a smile.

“Come on then. I don’t have all day.”

* * *

The thing is, Tara doesn’t know exactly how she ended up on the other side of the door. She must have a body to cross through the door, for starters. She’s also not sure whether it is her choice. Did she accept the hand? She finds herself staring down at perfectly manicured nails, that hand grasping another one which she ends up recognising as her own. Does that means she chose to go through? Or did the woman pull her through?

“Merry Christmas, Miss Maclay.”

Tara stares at the woman. And she stares some more. And then she reaches for the only word she can think of.

“Huh?”

* * *

“I suppose it’s arguable whether it’s actually Christmas if you’re dead,” says the woman in a conversational tone as she looks Tara up and down.

Which means… there is a Tara to look at. Tara looks down, takes in grey denim and a thin blue jumper. She was wearing this… She reaches up to her heart, draws her finger away. It is stained red.

“Yes, that is rather unpleasant,” says the woman. “Considering all of this is only corporeal in the very loosest of senses, I suppose you _should_ be able to change that. Focus hard, or something. Isn’t that something witches are meant to be good at? Psychic projection and whatnot?”

“What is this?”

The woman’s smirk broadens. “Good to see you still have some sense about you. It makes all of this easier.”

“What - Tell me what’s going on. Please.”

A titter. “And polite too! It really is Christmas.” The woman adjusts her scarf - soft and purple and carefully wrapped around her neck - seemingly content to make Tara wait just a little longer for anything approaching a proper answer. “Let’s see then. Well, first of all, you’re dead. Now I know this may come as a shock -“

“I know that,” says Tara. “I meant, what is -“ She gestures around her. She gazes around her to see what looks suspiciously like a corridor. “This.”

The woman blinks. “That was easier than I expected. I really thought we’d take longer to get over the whole ‘death’ thing but I guess we can skip straight to the bit where you help me out and then get to go back to whatever you were doing.”

“I - what?”

“You help me out,” repeats the woman, slowly. “Do the world a service, that kind of thing. There’s a few benefits you can secure, too, in terms of insurance against paranormal incursions on your regular death experience. If you’d feel more comfortable signing a contract, then I have several papers prepared too.”

“A contract?” says Tara, able to feel her brain gradually dissolve.

The woman produces a leather bag which she definitely hadn’t had a second earlier and pulls out a thick wad of papers. “Yep. All in order.”

She holds them out. Tara does not accept and instead simply stares at the papers, then at the stranger again.

The woman rolls her eyes. “Oh, there’s no clauses that involve selling your soul or anything. That’s what people always worry about, which is a reasonable thing to worry about but really isn’t necessary. But it’s just to formalise the arrangement, show you what you’re going to get out of it and that you’ll be returned back safely. We can always continue without.”

“Who _are_ you?”

The answering grin is all teeth, some unnerving combination of cocky and dangerous. “Lilah Morgan, attorney at law. Well… I _was_ , anyway.”

* * *

The thing is, Tara had not expected - as far as she had been expecting anything at all - to be bailed out of limbo or heaven or whatever it had been by a lawyer, of all people. And this lawyer isn’t making a lot of sense: when you’ve just been wrenched back into some sort of a manifestation of a physical reality after an indeterminate time in an inexplicable void, it takes you a little time to be ready to deal with things like _contracts_ again.

Tara isn’t at her best right now. So when the woman - Lilah - tells her to follow her, she does so, without really thinking about it. They are walking along what is indeed some kind of a corridor, bleak with no particularly interesting features that distinguish it from normal corridors of the sort one would come across in the land of the living.

“I’m confused,” says Tara, unnecessarily.

The woman considers her with an air of patience. “That’s understandable. I imagine it’ll take you a bit to wrap your head around all the details.”

Tara is less worried about the ‘details’ than she is about the ‘what the hell is going on’ bit, but she declines to mention this.

“What is this place?”

“I suppose you could call it the afterlife,” says Lilah. “Though that term isn’t particularly useful in an explanatory sense, is it? You are dead, after all. This is _after life_ by definition.”

Tara blinks a few times. “You’re right. It isn’t helpful.”

The woman seems to find this funny. Tara doesn’t.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a connection point, of sorts. The closest place - well not _place_ since none of this is geographically construed in the regular sense but you know what I mean - to the real world, if you will.”

“You want to… to bring me back?”

“Oh. Well, no. Sorry,” she says, looking genuinely apologetic. A little, anyway. “No, it’s more that we need a place to get the connection straight, so to speak. Give an access to whoever might need it. I’m a little vague on the details myself, if I’m being honest. All I know is that I need to get you there.”

“Why?”

“Long story.”

“I have time.”

Lilah laughs. She seems to do that a lot. “It doesn’t really matter. Come on, we still have quite a way to walk.”

* * *

But that really isn’t good enough, Tara decides after a few minutes.

She stops.

It takes Lilah a moment to notice, but then she turns around to look back at Tara.

“Is something the matter?”

“What do you want?” asks Tara, deciding to get to the crux of the matter.

Lilah gives her an odd look. “I told you -“

“I want an explanation.”

The odd look deepens, and Tara thinks Lilah might be _surprised_. After a moment, she sighs.

“Come on, I’ll explain as we walk.”

“No,” says Tara, and saying the word makes it feel like something important has returned to her. She doesn’t know what it is and it probably doesn’t make any sense, but it makes her feel more like herself again. “Explain to me first what you want.”

“Fine,” says Lilah with a shrug that is just a little too casual for Tara’s liking. “I want to undo a spell. Or rather, my employers want to undo one, though for all intents and purposes it’s quite the same thing.”

“A spell?” repeats Tara, unsure of what she had been expecting. “You want to use my magic?”

“I’m not here for your power, I’m afraid,” says Lilah. “Oh, it’s considerable. Don’t get me wrong. Just, in this particular instance, it’s your link to a particular hotheaded force of nature that has gotten the attention of the folks on top.”

 _Willow_.

“What do you want from her?” asks Tara, feeling her fists curl up into tight balls. No _way_ is this woman getting Tara to do _anything_ that would in _any way_ -

“You’re linked. Magically, I mean. She summoned up a great deal of dark magic trying to get you back -“

“She did _what_?”

“- which kind of leaves its mark. Well, yes. And then went on a bit of a rampage, from what I hear. Anyways, she then went on to do a very specific spell with a whole bunch of consequences which I need you to undo.”

Tara’s mind is still reeling from all this jarring new information so she seizes on to one of the few things she is reasonably sure of. “You can’t just _undo_ spells that have already happened. That’s not how magic works.”

“Not with the living it might not. Here, however? Things are a little more flexible. See, we’re not so much undoing it as making sure that it never happens in the first place.” Lilah winks. “I’ll explain more if you come along.”

She starts walking again and Tara seriously considers for a moment turning around and letting this strange and quite possibly malicious woman wander off on her own. But _where_ would she go? Tara groans quietly, well aware that she simply does not know enough yet. So she follows the woman again, determined to get at the answers she needs.

* * *

It’s not easy getting anything useful out of the woman, but there’s another quite crucial question that really needs answering.

“Why would I help you?” asks Tara. Because she’s getting quite close to turning around, out of frustration if nothing else. They are still in the corridor, which feels unending. Maybe it is.

“Kindness of your heart?”

Tara just looks at her.

Lilah smirks. “Fine, then. If you want to be all difficult about it…”

“Then what?”

“Then I could always ask you what else precisely you’re intending on doing. You didn’t seem to be very busy.”

“And if I told you I’m sure I’d figure something out?”

“ _Then_ I’d have to inform you that my employers rerouted you from your initial final destination - a particularly nasty hell dimension. And if you don’t cooperate… Well, let’s just say there’s some folks who’d be thrilled to have that decision revoked.”

Tara’s heart sinks. She isn’t even quite sure why. Probably because the idea of being sent to a hell dimension doesn’t sound at all appealing, but the alternative of helping a woman she really doesn’t think she should trust isn’t great either.

That’s not all, though. There’s a sense of disappointment, almost. So she had died… and she had been judged… and she had been found wanting.

Which shouldn’t be a surprise, really.

Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

“Do you know… why?” asks Tara quietly, not really expecting an answer.

“Why?” repeats Lilah, glancing at her and then giving her a harder look. “You… Oh, it wasn’t because of anything you did, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

“It wasn’t?”

Lilah laughs, but trails off at the expression on Tara’s face. “You’re… Look, from everything I’ve heard you were… you know, good. It’s just because of what I said earlier, about your girlfriend using a hell of a lot of very dark stuff to try to suck you back to the material realm. It leaves a mark, and it left one on _you_ too. She summoned powerful demons and did her best to piss them off. When she failed… they were ready to take their revenge.”

If anything, this makes Tara feel worse, as the cold realisation burns her, creeping into her lungs and scratching at the back of her throat. The idea that Willow - her Willow - might have accidentally damned her is too horrible to seriously contemplate. So she takes the only avenue open to her: denial.

“You’re lying.”

The lawyer smirks at her, before shaking her head. “I can’t lie,” she says. “Literally, _cannot_. I don’t know what it is about this place, but somehow the rules for… communication are different here. Passing on mistruths is a major no no. Makes it so much more tricky in my line of work, I can tell you.”

This is not what Tara wants to hears. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Many things don’t. Sometimes they don’t have to, as long as the overall story works. So accept it and move on.”

“You could be lying about… not - not lying.”

“Right.”

“How do I know you’re not?”

“You could always try lying yourself.”

This strikes Tara as a good idea and she’s irritated at herself for not coming up with it. Given the circumstances, perhaps it is understandable. “I am -“ she starts, then cuts off. She physically _cannot_ bring herself to say the word ‘alive’. It is more than a little disconcerting.

Lilah looks smug. “See? Told you.”

“How do I know it’s affecting both of us?” asks Tara. “For all I know, it’s only me who’s stuck truth-telling while you’re free to lie however you please.”

“You’ll just have to trust me, I suppose,” says Lilah, then chuckles at Tara’s expression. “Even if you don’t think you were headed there already, trust me on this: you will be sent to a hell dimension if you don't follow me. Just a small job, then you have the rest of forever.”

Tara is about to ask more questions, but Lilah instantly cuts her off, pointing at a door.

“See that?”

She does, but just stares at it before answering. The corridor, that expanse of boring nothingness she had almost believed would last forever, ends there. “Where does it lead?” she asks, not sure if she really wants to know.

“Depends,” says Lilah. She hasn’t stopped walking and they’re getting steadily closer to the door. “Hell, if you head the wrong way.”

“ _Hell_?”

“The underworld proper. When you were… diverted, you were sent to a sort of limbo zone. Thing is, it’s buried pretty deep. Not deep in a geographic sense, mind.”

“But you’re taking me to hell.”

“Hopefully not. There are shortcuts, ways to skip most of it. And on the other end, a connection point. Which is all we need.”

Tara is not following any of this but she doesn’t have time to get any answers, because now they’re at the door. Lilah stretches out her hand to grasp at the handle - which looks all cheap and plastic-y and not particularly important or hellish - before turning around and winking at Tara.

“This should be fun.”

She wrenches the door open.

* * *

There’s a gust of wind that ruffles their hair when Tara steps through into a kind of cave. She looks around. It’s badly lit, but she heads to the first thing that catches her eye.

A plain wooden door marked with a ‘2’ that shines with an odd green light Tara might have described as neon.

“Not that one,” says Lilah. “ _Definitely_ not that one.”

Something in her tone of voice makes Tara back away a bit, and she follows Lilah to an even more unassuming gap in the corner of the chamber. There’s no door, just a place where the stone looks a bit crumbly and the light doesn’t reach. Tara probably wouldn’t even have noticed it.

But before they can slip through the gap, someone appears.

* * *

He looks like a teenage boy with wild, faintly greasy black hair. His jeans are all ripped up and he resembles a million similar specimen Tara has run into over the years, but he’s wearing a rather silly Christmas jumper with a big, smiling reindeer on it accompanied by the words ‘Jingle Beelz’.

Lilah looks like she’s suppressing a grin. “Hello, Beelzebub.”

Tara makes a small choking sound. When the boy looks at her, she got out - “ _Beelzebub_?”

“What, not live up to your expectations?” asks the boy in an ill-tempered way.

“Eh…”

The boy glares at her. “Go on, then, have a laugh.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she says, quite honestly.

“Oh, I’ve heard it all before.” He grimaces. “It’s bad enough to be stuck in customs for three hundred years without having that arse Mephistopheles deciding that what we really need is another infernal human celebration. What _is_ the point of these jumpers anyway?”

He is looking at Tara as he said this, and Lilah is enjoying herself too much to step in. “They’re… meant to be funny?”

“ _Funny_?” spits the boy. “What’s funny about this monstrosity? People have burnt in hellfire for thousands of years for lesser crimes of fashion.”

“Who came up with ‘Jingle Beelz’?” asks Lilah.

“Gressil,” says the boy bitterly. “And he’s so very friendly with _good ol’ Meph_ these days, of course _he_ thought it was hilarious. Oh, never mind. It’s not like I care what a couple of humans think anyway. Sometimes you just need some meat to talk at, you know?”

“Indeed.”

“And wherever you think you’re going, don’t.” The boy sniffs. “Just so you know. This is as far as you get.”

“What a shame,” says Tara, about to turn around when a firm grip holds her in place.

Lilah smiles sweetly at her. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ve got the paperwork.”

The boy eyes them both with a frown, then groans. “Let me guess. Wolfram and Hart?”

“Yes. We met a few years back, actually - at a gala. Don’t think you’d remember… So if you’d just take a look at the file -“

“I’m afraid we’re not able to take requests just at this moment,” the boy intones. “It’s Christmas Eve, you see. Come back, new year of 2103 and I’m sure somebody will be able to process your request.”

“We have a right for audience, especially since you don’t get leave for human holidays,” says Lilah, still smiling at the demon.

The boy gives her a rueful look. “What if we’ve changed the rules?”

“You haven’t. Unless you want me to contact my employers -“

“ _Fine_ ,” snaps the boy, taking the papers from her. “Thousands of years building up a reputation for leading men astray through their pride and gluttony and then I’m banished here for a simple misdemeanour just to _set an example_ ,” he mutters as he flips through them. “I missed the entire industrial revolution, for crying out loud. The demons they send down these days barely make any effort… Don’t even really care about humans…” He looks up, gaze settling on Tara. “You’re a human, aren’t you? Surely, you’d want the demon exploiting your deadly sins and leading your species to its own damnation to really have put some time and effort into the whole thing, right? You’d want someone who actually _knows_ about the societies they’re ruining, right?”

“Eh…” says Tara, not feeling like she is going to get any more articulate any time soon. “Yeah?”

“Exactly. Well, this request is ridiculous. The human died, she’s serving out her RDE. And I’ll note that Wolfram and Hart already got a request through to redirect her from a hell dimension.”

“Like I told you,” mutters Lilah to Tara. To the boy, she says - “This is a short-term engagement. Besides, my employers only brought her here in case they needed her again.”

“That’s not my problem. Rules are rules. I’d be better disposed to your case if you hadn’t already gotten special waivers. Besides, she’s a witch and they don’t ever do anything else than burrow away at the veil between life and death, causing the rest of us no end of trouble. As I once said to my good friend James, a living witch is nothing but trouble.”

“I don’t want to bring her back to life.”

“But you want to bring her into contact with the living. A magical link to a witch? Sounds dreadful.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

The boy snorts. “I very much doubt that. This witch… Willow Rosenberg? Oh yes, I remember her. All sorts of dark magic about this one, seems determined to rip out every dead soul one by one. Awfully blunt about it, too. If you’re trying to sacrifice her then good luck with that, but otherwise…”

“No!” exclaims Tara.

The boy’s dispassionate gaze fixed on her for a moment before he looks back at the file. “Mind you, I did get a taboo-breaker a few years back where she invoked my name… Nothing real, I’m afraid, so I couldn’t actually _do_ anything about it but she did say ‘I worship Beelzebub’ which was rather nice of her… Still, there’s no way I can allow this. So if you could just leave….”

“And what will you put down as your reason for denying the request?” asks Lilah.

Tara suddenly wonders whether squabbling about paperwork with a demon is something this woman does regularly, and then decided that it probably is.

“I don’t need to put a reason,” says the boy. “I made the decision, and that’s that.”

“Actually, you need to make an official declaration. So that we can try to have it overruled.”

There is a moment of silence as the boy considers Lilah with narrowed eyes.

“Do you _want_ to be tortured for all eternity?”

“My soul isn’t up for grabs.”

The boy raises his eyebrows.

“Standard perpetuity clause.”

“Oh, how irritatingly human of you. I don’t actually _need_ your immortal soul, you know - I’m not Mephistopheles. I’d just ram in some hot pokers, cut out your tongue, make you listen to Daft Punk all day. That sort of thing.”

“What’s wrong with Daft Punk?” asks Tara.

The demon looks a little taken aback by the question, but then shrugs. “Nothing, I’m sure. But this one doesn’t like them, so it’s part of the routine.”

Tara looks at Lilah, who shrugs in an apologetic sort of way.

“I just think they’re a bit irritating.”

“Right,” says Tara. She turns to the boy. “And you know her taste in music?”

“I know how to torture her,” he says, sounding irritable again. “What kind of demon do you think I am?”

“Of course,” she says weakly, pretending like this made sense.

“The _point_ is,” says Lilah, “we have papers. And if you want an inquiry, I can make your life to hell, pun absolutely intended.” That earns her a particularly vicious glare from the demon. “So unless you want to stick around customs for another few centuries, by which time humans will probably already have managed to destroy themselves…” She trails off, voice laden with implications.

Beelzebub glares at her some more. But somehow, that is that.

* * *

The gap doesn’t lead to some spectacular hell-scape. Instead, it’s more corridor for them.

Tara is almost glad, because she’s not sure she can process anything else just now.

“Are you all right?” asks Lilah, sounding amused.

Tara can’t immediately reply, so settles for nodding.

They walk in silence for a few minutes.

“What _was_ he?”

“Beelzebub? A demon.”

“But he -“

“Not just any old demon. One of the archdemons. I suppose you’d call them Old Ones.”

Tara exhales sharply, earning her another amused look from Lilah.

“Not bad, right?”

“He doesn’t look it. And surely I would’ve heard -“

“He’s been grounded, remember? Trust me, he thinks customs is -“

“But he _looked_ -“

“- beneath him too. Yes, well, some of these demon types enjoy looking ordinary. Side effect of being extraordinarily powerful is that you don’t need to boast about it. The ones that look entirely ordinary? They’re the _really_ dangerous ones.”

Tara thinks about all the demons and other assorted evil she’d faced over the years, and can’t help but think that the scary-looking ones had been dangerous enough already. Then, a new troubling thought strikes her. “What exactly is powerful enough to ground an Old One?”

Lilah shrugs. “They do have their own system, you know. Beelzebub has always been a bit of a rule-breaker, from what I’ve heard. He must have done something to irritate the others enough to keep him confined here.”

This makes sense, but is quickly followed by a new, equally unsettling, thought. “But if you were able to get past him…” A lump formed in her throat. “Who exactly did you say your employers were?”

Lilah’s mouth quirks but she doesn’t answer.

“Wolfram and Hart,” repeats Tara. She has never heard of it, though that doesn’t have to mean much. “Are you -“ She breaks off, incredibly irritated at herself for not having considered this quite obvious possibility earlier. It’s just that Lilah _looks_ so ordinary and…

“Very much human, I assure you,” says Lilah. “Unlike my employers.”

“They’re demons?” A beat. “Old Ones?”

“Something like that.”

“ _You’re working for demons_?”

“Haven’t we all,” says Lilah airily. “They’re not all bad, you know.”

“Old Ones are.”

“But they offer an excellent pension. If you survive to enjoy it.” She chuckles.

“So why didn’t they get me myself? Why send you?”

“Because,” says Lilah, “we’re not quite back to the land of the living yet. This place - I suppose you could call it a limbo. Come and go, in between, here and there and everywhere.” She laughs. “They didn’t have enough power to wrench you back just like that, you see. Now me, I can move a little more freely. Advantages of being undead.”

 _Undead_.

She shouldn’t be surprised. But she is.

* * *

The thing is, Tara still isn’t quite herself. That’s why she has followed the lawyer down a winding path that is leading to some mysterious new location without protesting. She’s taking way too long to process information.

The corridor is changing, too. Gradually, it’s shifting away from the bland and bleak faux-office design to something quite different. Pebbles are appearing on the ground with increasing frequency and the walls on either side are becoming less smooth, with the occasional rougher stone or protruding rock shedding dust that worms its way up Tara’s nose and makes her want to sneeze. She hasn’t sneezed for a long time.

It’s hard to focus, with everything going on. Easier just to follow this lawyer. But Tara has heard enough to make her uneasy - deeply so.

There are two facts that matter right now.

One: Lilah wants her to undo a spell cast by Willow.

Two: Lilah is working for Old Ones.

It’s been a while since she’s had to make moral judgements, but as far as she is concerned Willow is _good_ and the Old Ones are very much _bad_ , which is what makes all of this so very worrying.

Of course, there’s also Three: If Tara doesn’t help Lilah, she’ll be sent to a hell dimension.

Maybe that isn’t true. Maybe it is just some elaborate con. Then again, the same could be said about her other two ‘facts’, whatever Lilah might say about her inability to lie. All she has is Lilah’s word for any of those things.

But it’s all she has. And if they’re true…

She can’t worry about Fact 3 now. It’s Facts 1 and 2 that need to be her more immediate concern. And once again, she finds herself in dire need of more information.

The path has turned decidedly rocky by the time Tara has prepared herself for another attempt.

“What kind of spell do you need me to undo?” she asks, trying to sound casual.

Lilah gives her a very tired look, and Tara can’t help but think this is turning into a long day for both of them.

But that isn't exactly unusual for Christmas.

* * *

“Here’s the thing. Your witchling put some powerful voodoo into the world and has shaped her own brave new world. She gave every little girl out there who had the potential to be a slayer the power. No more ‘in each generation, one is born’. Now, there’s hundreds - possibly thousands - of the little brats running around, carving stakes like there’s no tomorrow. Which there might not be, if we’re being honest.”

“Willow… did what?”

“Oh, there’s some reason, I’m sure. Some primal evil or other - isn’t there always? Still, it’s caused an awful mess, of the kind my employers aren’t at all happy about.”

“Why?”

“All those girls, running around and making trouble? Killing things left and right? Just between ourselves, all these clients being slaughtered just isn’t good for business.”

That certainly sounds honest to Tara, and she isn’t liking it one bit. “I need to turn back.”

Lilah sighs. “Are you going to be difficult this entire trip?” She shakes her head. “Don’t answer that. What part of ‘you’ll get sent to a hell dimension’ do you not understand?”

“I’m _not_ going to help you! You’re just doing it for the benefit of evil demons -”

“I never disputed that,” says Lilah. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t have benefits too.” She smirks. “Can’t lie, remember?”

“First off, I still don’t know whether I can _actually_ believe you. And there’s a huge gap between _benefits_ and _this is a good idea_.”

The lawyer laughs. It almost sounds genuine. “Good point. All right - _this is a good idea_.”

“Vague,” protests Tara, weakly. But she can feel doubts niggling at her. Because if what Lilah says is true… Well, it _sounds_ insane. But Willow _has_ done insane things in the past. And it’s so hard to figure any of this out, and a part of her is horribly afraid that Willow has done something incredibly stupid in a way that makes her feel deeply ashamed.

Lilah can see all of this on her face, of course. Which is why she keeps walking with a smirk on her face that is growing far too familiar.

* * *

She’s still thinking when music starts blaring all around them - electronic and sounding suspiciously familiar to Tara.

She looks around, trying to figure out where it is coming from, but it seems to be all around them.

Lilah groans.

Tara is still confused by this odd turn of events when a man starts singing.

_One more time._

_One more time._

“Hilarious,” Lilah mutters.

 _One more time we’re gonna celebrate_.

Tara tries not to laugh. “Daft Punk.”

 _Oh yeah all right don’t stop the dancing_.

Lilah shoots her a dirty look. “You won’t think this is so funny after several hours.”

“ _Several hours_?”

“What, do you think it’ll just play once and then be fine? Demons might not be able to stop us but they can certainly irritate us, so get ready to become _very_ familiar with the lyrics of‘Harder Better Faster Stronger’.”

“But… why? Surely they can’t think we’ll turn back because they’re playing irritating music?”

Lilah looks at her blankly. “They’re _demons_. Sure, sometimes they try to win our souls and damn our species, but mostly they’re just quite petty.”

They continue walking as the singer croons _One more time_ for the eighth time.

* * *

The path is entirely rocky by the time it opens into some sort of cavern. Tara sees the ground drop off below them a few feet ahead, except where it continues on along a narrow, closed off path.

It’s like a bridge. A bridge over hell, with glass on either side separating them from what lies below. It’s all so bizarre - this oddly artificial gap to the chaos outside as they continue over metallic planks, dull lightbulbs illuminating the inside - and Tara feels like she is in a zoo of some kind. Outside of the bridge lie the enclosements, but there are no animals here. No, the shapes and the screams of the inhabitants are distressingly familiar.

Because they are screaming. Screams blending into the sound of music, so that the wail is hard to distinguish from the voice going _Our work is never over_.

Lilah hasn’t stopped and Tara has to almost jog to catch up to her, but she’s peering out through the glass because she just can’t help herself. It doesn’t need description, but it’s fair to say that it’s a dreadful sight.

“If it helps,” says Lilah in a conversational tone, “they’re not human.”

That makes Tara look more closely.

And she recognises the faces - well, not _who_ they are but _what_ , with their features distorted from those of usual humans: the brow, the sunken eyes, the teeth…

“Are those…” Tara hesitates.

“Vampires?” finishes Lilah, staring dispassionately at the faces contorted not only through screams. “Yes.”

“But I thought… aren’t their bodies separated from their souls when they’re… turned?”

“And now they’ve been reunited.”

Tara feels a horrible lurch in her stomach. “Those aren’t demons’ souls?”

“The ones making all the noise? No.”

“But then… Are the humans… They’re being punished for what the vampires did?”

“Cruel, isn’t it?” remarks Lilah, not sounding in the least bit concerned.

“That’s horrible,” says Tara. “It’s not… It isn’t fair.”

Lilah snorts and Tara looks at her in shock. At the expression, the lawyer rolls her eyes. “Calm yourself, I’m hardly disagreeing. But nothing about… well, anything, is particularly fair, is it?”

They stop talking.

_Work it harder make it_

_Do it faster makes us_

Tara finds herself listening again to the stupid song after having worked very hard to block it out. Because just then, she really needs something to distract her from the screams.

* * *

“This trip was more enjoyable when you were talking,” says Lilah after they’ve walked for an indeterminate amount of time through a series of hellscapes.

Tara summons a glare. “ _Enjoyable_? How can any of this be enjoyable?”

The lawyer shrugs. “Feeling bad doesn’t actually help them, you know.”

“Is that supposed to help?” asks Tara, then winces. She’s surprised at how scathing her voice is.

Lilah gives her a look, then shrugs again. “Don’t know what helps you. I never found out what makes you… hero-types feel better.”

“I’m not a hero-type,” mutters Tara. “But I can’t just not care.”

“Can’t you?” says Lilah, expression blank. Like it is the easiest thing in the world.

“How can you justify it?” she asks, _trying_ to get through to the woman. “They didn’t… It wasn’t them.”

“So the wrong souls get punished. It’s always that way. I suppose the folks in charge here would argue that it doesn’t mean the souls aren’t responsible for the sins of the flesh.”

“This is all…” Tara looks even know how to finish the sentence.

“Look, if it makes you feel better humanity’s downfall will come through its own sins. Demons only facilitate the process. We’re all doomed, it’ll all come to an end. Cheer up, it’s Christmas.”

But that only makes Tara fall silent again. And it makes her think.

* * *

Tara stops.

Lilah turns around. “What?”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can’t… what?”

“I can’t - If Willow was fighting something that evil, I can’t undo it.”

Lilah frowns, whether it’s at Tara or at the renewed blazing of ‘Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger’ she might never know. “Let’s keep going, Tara.”

“No.”

“You’ll be sent to a hell dimension. For real, this time.”

“Fine,” says Tara. “Do it. I’m not dooming everyone, I’m not betraying Willow, just to save myself.”

Lilah keeps frowning at her for several seconds before sighing. “Heroes,” she mutters. “Always rediscover their morals when you last need it.”

“I’m _not_ a hero.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself. Look, this primal evil… Sure it’s bad. But what your girlfriend did was _really_ bad.”

“Saving everybody? That was bad?”

“Oh, but even you know that your enchantress is the reckless kind. I’ve been told all about her - about the two of you, in fact. Didn’t she even put her little spells on _you_?”

“We made up.”

“And perhaps you did. But she has a history of using magic irresponsibly. Making all the girls slayers - that’s going to have _consequences_. Not least for the girls themselves. You know Buffy. Did she strike you as happy with her lot? And now think of all the girls out there. Targets, just like her. Your sweetheart has condemned them.”

Tara glares at her. “I’m sure they’ll deal.”

Lilah laughs quietly. “Do you really think so?” she asks. “There aren’t enough watchers in the world to supervise all of them, not least because most of them got blown up. Don’t ask,” she adds, seeing Tara’s shock. “The point is, Willow has made their lives hell. There’ve been several casualties already. Other girls who’ve gone mad. All of them have had their lives irrevocably changed - ruined, even. You can make it right.”

“She was _saving the world_ ,” says Tara stubbornly.

“Do you really think they couldn’t have come up with something else?” asks Lilah. “A better solution? Your friends are smart. But they let those girls pay the price for their plan.”

“But -“

“I’ve never pretended to be doing this for anyone except for my employers,” she interrupts. “I might be a servant of evil, but at least I’m honest about it. That doesn’t mean your friends didn’t do some serious harm, and I’m giving you a way of undoing it. Most people don’t get that chance, you know. To do good from beyond the grave.”

“ _You_ say it’s good.”

Lilah snorts. “Are you coming or not?”

Tara hates herself because she knows Lilah has convinced her again. Because if there’s a _chance_ that Willow has done something truly horrible… isn’t it her responsibility?

* * *

“Are you… dead?”

Lilah smiles thinly. “Clearly.”

“But you’re…”

“Seemingly a model of good health? I know, right? I’ve been preserved.”

Tara nods despite not understanding, which she has been doing a lot. She recalls the meeting with the demon. “Standard perpetuity clause?”

The smile widens. “Exactly. Work doesn’t end with death.”

“You mean you… have a contract that still binds you when you’re dead?” Tara is again feeling the overwhelming urge to scream.

Lilah nods, as if this is perfectly normal. Which none of this is.

_One more time we’re gonna celebrate_

_Oh yeah all right don’t stop the dancing_

“How did you die?” asks Tara, then winces at how blunt the question was.

Lilah doesn’t care, because of course she doesn’t. “Bit of a long story, actually. Was running away from a vampire, then this ancient powerful being - think Old One except technically speaking on the side of the angels except _this_ one really wasn’t - who was possessing my ex’s former friend killed me.” She shrugs. “Not that long, maybe. Oh, and then my ex ended up chopping off my head. In all fairness, it _was_ rather sweet of him.”

She says all of this rather airily, like it is of no great import whatsoever. But for some reason, Tara isn’t convinced. It’s just a little too casual for her liking. And there’s something about how Lilah’s staring straight ahead, how her fingers are stretched out and stiff like she’s trying not to curl her fists… Dying can’t be a pleasant experience for anyone. It certainly isn’t for Tara. And Lilah’s experience hardly sounds pleasant.

This woman is human. She had an entire life. Her career. An ex, who she had some kind of history with. There’s so many edges and snark to her that Tara had almost forgotten to be curious - but she is, now.

 _Why would you chop off the head of a dead person_?

The bit of her mind that’s actually working supplies her with this question, and it isn’t one she can immediately come up with an answer to. Some kind of ritual? A way to end possession? But hadn’t Lilah said…

Wait…

“Your ex,” says Tara. “He… Was he trying to stop you from… coming back? As a vampire, I mean?”

Lilah looks startled by this, and her eyes narrow for a moment. But then she nods. “Heavens, you’re pretty smart, aren’t you? Yes, he was.”

“And did he succeed?”

A snort. “I’m not a vampire, if that’s what you’re asking. That’s not how the contract works.”

Then how _does_ it work?

* * *

“End of the shortcut,” says Lilah with what approaches trepidation in her voice. “Now, there’s a path that takes us directly to the contact point, but first we need to get through a bit of hell first.”

Tara gives her a look.

“Just a bit,” says Lilah in a tone that tries and fails spectacularly at being reassuring. Once more, she reaches out.

Tara takes another look at the scarf. And she thinks about the own blood staining her jumper. And she thinks of what Lilah said. _My ex ended up chopping off my head_.

Blood and gore comes as part of the territory for witches. And Tara has seen plenty of it in her time. But there’s something so sick and twisted about the whole thing that she can taste bile in her mouth.

When Lilah opens this new door, the blood and gore come rather closer.

They step through onto a plateau of some sort and when the door swings shut behind them with a loud clang, Tara realises there is nothing behind it. Instead, a few feet away, there’s a sheer cliff under an unsettlingly crimson sky.

What lay ahead of them, however, is considerably more unsettling. There is an acrid smell in the air that verges on sulphuric, and it seems to be coming from the river. It’s hard to quite make out, what with the steam gently curling from it. She steps forward to get a better look (because hey - if she’s survived this much what’s a weird river going to do) and she thinks… that the river might be burning. Constant flames of red and blue and the occasional green flare up, with the steam diffusing into the air that bore down on them like an insistent mist. Like they are both pushing against each other, constantly fighting.

But it’s not water, she realises. It’s too dark, too red for that - it runs slowly and it’s thick and is that odour -

She blanches. And then she gets very close to retching.

“Let’s get out of here quickly,” says Lilah beside her, and for once they are in perfect agreement.

* * *

Before they had passed through the door, they had been sheltered. Tara had seen hell. She had heard it.

But she hadn’t felt it. And she hadn’t been surrounded by it.

It surrounds her now, engulfs her, seeps into her very pores - inescapable and unbearable. There is another bridge that leads them across the river, but unlike the safety of the last one the river is boiling and spitting on either side of them. She flinches every time a drop comes too close.

The music is gone now. She very nearly misses it.

When they’ve crossed the bridge, they have to walk alongside the river as a shallow stream runs on their other side, keeping their heads down and wearily looking out for anyone to come close. Tara keeps her eyes averted from the more distant figures.

They’re getting close to the little door Lilah says will take them straight to the contact point. Of course, this is all going too smoothly.

* * *

Tara hears a growl and as one, the two of them whirl around.

A shadow is approaching - twice their height and looming over them - and as it takes another step the light of the burning rivers illuminates his form. His body might be shaped like that of a human but his head resembles that of a bull and he’s coming closer, ever closer -

And the monster rears before them - monstrous, face twisted into fury as the fires from the deepest pits of hell lit in its eyes, dark and writhing yet impossibly bright all at once. Its mouth opens and impossibly sharp and impossibly many teeth protruded, with a set of fangs that promise to tear into shreds anything within reach.

It pauses, reared above them, as drool drips down in front of them. Then, the minotaur frowns.

“Who are you?” it asks.

It can talk. Not in a harsh growl. The voice has a bit of a squeak, actually.

“Hello there,” says Lilah. “I’m Lilah Morgan, and this is Tara Maclay.”

“Oh,” says the minotaur, looking the closest a minotaur can to put-out. “You don’t belong here.”

“We’re just passing through,” says Lilah brightly.

“Right,” says the minotaur and gives a long-suffering sigh. It isn’t really rearing any more. “Just passing through. Well, don’t let me bother you. No one else does.”

“Could we get through here without actually… having to go all through the hell?” asks Lilah.

That earns her a baleful look from the minotaur. “You just want to skip all this?”

“It’s just that rives of fire and blood tend to do hell for the shoes.”

“Ah.”

“Stains, you know.”

“Of course.”

“So can we?”

“No.”

Tara half-watches a centaur passing. He’s muttering something about _strangle them with tinsel_ and she decides she doesn’t need to know more.

“We’ve gone through this already earlier,” says Lilah. “My employers are Wolfram and Hart. Beelzebub agreed to us taking the fastest direct route to -“

“Beelzebub can suck it,” says the minotaur. A rock the size of a frying pan dislodges itself from the ceiling above and falls straight down at the minotaur. He steps aside, looking bored. “He’s not what he used to be if he’s just letting humans wander about.”

“We’re not just wandering about,” says Lilah. “We have all the requisite papers -“

But she’s interrupted as a winged rat swoops between them.

“Delivery coming through,” the winged rat screeches at the minotaur and the two humans. “Move along now!”

Tara stares, and somehow she still manages to be surprised as several centaurs cross the bridge with pine trees strapped to their backs. They all move aside, and she can’t help but notice that the passageway is now directly behind them. If they could just make a run for it…

“Christmas decorations?” asks Lilah in a polite sort of way.

The minotaur groans. “They keep wanting us to make our torture Christmas-related. You’d think we could get on with what we’re meant to do without randomly shoehorning in Christmas at every possible moment, but apparently that’s _not the seasonal spirit_.”

“What, do you impale them with the trees?” asks Tara.

She doesn’t know whether they catch the sarcasm because they both look at her like they’re both surprised and impressed (she _thinks_ she’s getting better at interpreting the minotaur’s expressions).

“You _have_ been hanging out with the slayer for a while, haven’t you,” mutters Lilah. “Not everything’s a stake, you know.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” says the minotaur, “but we’re using this batch to tie the victims against, then we set them on fire and have a few imps sing Christmas carols. They’re horrid at it, of course. Thing is, pines are far too flammable - usually you’d want a more slow-burning experience. As always, the aesthetic is coming before the practicality.”

“Dreadful,” says Lilah with sympathy. “Now, about letting us through…”

“I said no,” says the minotaur.

“We have the proper documentation -“

“I don’t care about your papers. You’ve come here, and you should have been prepared for the consequences.”

_Consequences?_

“There’s nothing you can do to us,” says Lilah, slowly. “Wolfram and Hart -“

The minotaur laughs. “They have no power here. You were foolish to come. More foolish still to believe you could get away again. And now” - he leers at them - “you will join the others.”

He takes a single step forwards and swipes at Lilah. She shrieks as she flies back and lands heavily on the floor. And he advances towards her, fangs in full view again.

Tara doesn’t know why she steps between them.

But she does.

She reaches for the power she has felt all her life. Instinct, she supposes: she has no reason to believe that it’ll work here. Tara flexes her fingers and juts out her palm, muttering a syllable. There’s a tug inside her, somewhere close to her gut, and the warmth curls around before spreading outwards. She knows it’s there even before she sees its effects: the demon flying back.

It lands - hard - against the stone wall. The smell of sulphur is thicker than ever in the air and it’s making Tara feel faint. She tries to steady herself - she really doesn’t want to fall into the river to her side. Lilah’s still on the ground, the soles of her shoes sliding on the slick stones stained red at the riverbed. Tara starts coughing and even as her eyes tear up she can see the minotaur raising itself again. She looks around desperately, struggling to see through the tears and the mist that is now tinged red. The way out is still behind them, and whatever her worries about going on with this mad mission she’s not exactly got a lot of choice right now.

But Lilah’s still lying on the ground. Tara runs to her, terrified the lawyer has lost consciousness.

She hasn’t.

Lilah stares at her, eyes wide open, and (genuine) shock on her face. Tara holds out her hand, because what else can she do?

“Come on, then.”

The lawyer keeps staring for a moment, but then grabs it. Tara pulls her up, with only a little difficulty.

They start running as rocks fall from the ceiling behind them. Completely blocking them off, keeping them away from the minotaur. Which would be great if they weren’t in serious danger of being crushed.

One stone sets of another, and the ceiling above is crumbling. There’s an opening ahead but the path is caving in way too fast and Tara has to drag Lilah behind her, refusing to let go. With a last burst of strength that is half magic and half muscle, she throws Lilah ahead off her into the cavern. The lawyer falls hard but safe.

For a horrible second, Tara doesn’t think she’s going to make it. But a last, desperate leap takes her into the cavern and she falls forward before managing to drag her legs out of the way of the falling rocks.

She quickly gets up and looks around. The opening barely deserves the term - but the rocks are a slightly different colour. Beige. And no rocks are falling here. It doesn’t look stable, but the path ahead isn’t currently trying to kill them. So she pushes Lilah ahead of her into the wider path.

Lilah isn’t moving fast. Even though there could be something else here that’s trying to kill them. It’s agonising.

But also exhilarating. Tara has missed being frightened.

* * *

Tara wants to go on, but Lilah is slowing down.

“Just… let me catch my breath,” she says. She leans against the wall, looking more dishevelled than she has been by anything else, but casts her an almost sly look. “That was pretty brave of you.”

“Yeah, well,” says Tara. “Just kind of happened.”

“Uh huh,” says Lilah. The smirk has returned, but it’s softer this time. She places the palm of one hand against the wall, still steadying herself but pushing off. After a moment of stillness, she almost falls forward and stretches out the other hand, landing against Tara with her fingers closing around her forearm. Tara stumbles - if Lilah had let herself go with her full weight she would surely have fallen. But her movements are far too careful, too deliberate for that. Instead, she leans into Tara, pressing against her closely. She smells of expensive perfume but sulphur clings to her hair and that hair is suddenly in Tara’s face, making her want to gag. But she doesn’t, instead watching as Tara’s lidded eyebrows hide her eyes before her head gradually tilts upwards. She doesn’t do anything as those big eyes meet her, pupils wide and almost hiding the bleached-out colour of her irises.

Both hands are on Tara now, grabbing at her forearms. She doesn’t know how much of it is for support. But it doesn’t really matter now, with Lilah leaning in ever further. Lilah’s mouth opening slightly. Lilah tilting her head to the side. Lilah’s lips brushing against her own.

Which wakes Tara up. Which makes her stand back. Which makes her _jump_ back.

Lilah almost falls. But she’s steadier again, and after a moment she’s leaning against the wall, and she’s shaking just a little. She’s trying for the smirk again, but it’s not as firm as it should be.

“What can I say,” says Lilah, “Near death experiences make me thirsty.”

It makes Tara sure, all of a sudden, that Lilah is covering. The thought hits her, confuses her because… it would make what Lilah had done real.

But this could be a manipulation. It could be _another_ manipulation.

She’s about to say this, but something stops her.

Because somewhere beneath the smirk is a horribly unguarded expression.

“Sorry,” says Tara. Lilah’s mouth opens again - she hadn’t noticed quite how full those lips are. “I have a girlfriend.”

“You’re dead, honey.”

Tara almost laughs at the bravado. A part of her suddenly wonders whether - if this _were_ real - she could somehow use it to get out of this mess. And then she hates herself for the thought.

She should have jumped into hell’s fires before even considering it.

“Still,” she says, more weakly than she wanted.

“If it’s fidelity that’s worrying you, you’ll be thrilled to know that Willow has moved on,” says Lilah dispassionately.

“Oh,” says Tara, then forces herself to be happy for Willow. She has every right to move on, of course. Every right to be happy. “Good.”

“I’m sure. Not that it should matter. You being dead and all.”

They stand in silence for a moment.

“I… Look, I saved your life. Can we just go back now?”

Lilah shook her head. “I don’t have a life for you to save.”

“But -“ She bites ferociously at her lip, in a moment bringing back a bad habit she had managed to stop years and years ago. The pain, at least, is real. “What happens? If you die here?”

The lawyer studies her. “You’ve changed the subject.”

Tara does not answer, the kiss still hanging between them.

“What happens when a dead person dies?” The smirk is a sour twist of the mouth now. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

This is ominous, and not at all useful. Tara is just about to protest when something catches her attention.

The walls are closing in on them.

Slowly, but slowly, they’re shifting towards them. Stones screeching over stones, somehow escaping her awareness until now. But now -

“Um… Lilah?”

Lilah frowns for a moment, still distracted. Then she realises too. “Ah shit.”

The walls haven’t stopped moving.

“We need to get out of here,” says the lawyer and before she has the chance to straighten up properly, Tara has grabbed her hand. They’re running again, with a new desperation, and Tara is searching for an exit even as she has to concentrate to not stumble on the rough terrain.

They’re both gasping and straining as their lungs struggle - just as a corner of Tara’s brain realises that the shoes that Lilah are wearing _really_ aren’t appropriate and she’s astounded the lawyer has even gotten so far. One burning leg ahead of the other, pushing each other forwards as the walls press in ever closer, pushing up stones and making the ground hard to step on and their ankles flare up in pain. But Tara can see a space ahead where the walls are no longer moving and it’s a desperate last sprint - fifteen feet, ten feet, five -

They make it. Just.

They’re in a cavern. And they had better hope these walls don’t betray them because right now, they’re too tired to run.

* * *

“Somehow, this doesn’t even make my top three worst Christmases,” says Tara.

Lilah, who is still panting, looks up at her in bewilderment, then catches Tara’s expression. She starts laughing - it’s a nice laugh, Tara finds, even if it’s interrupted by regular bursts of coughing. All the smoke and gruesome odours are still messing with them. Tara looks away, a smile appearing on her own face. Somehow, that makes Lilah laugh harder.

“This is all _so_ not going to plan,” says Lilah at last, wiping her forehead with the pack of her wrist before examining her dirt-covered hand with an air of disgust. “A few checkpoints, I was told. Just stride right through, they said. And then there’s _you,_ of course.”

“Me?”

“I was told you were going to be disoriented. Easy to convince of anything, considering your long jaunt in limbo and your unfamiliar surroundings.” She laughs again. “All that bullshit about protecting you about paranormal incursions or whatever is just rubbish to make it go down smoother.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Yeah. You’re not easy to disorientate. Instead, you’ve been… well, you. Or at least, I hope you won’t more argumentative when you were alive?”

Tara shrugs, somehow not bothered by this new information. “Probably. I don’t think I’d have followed you this far if I were thinking straight.”

“Figures,” says Lilah. “You’ll be thrilled to know that my employers very much underestimated you.”

“For all the good it’s done me.”

She laughs. “This’ll be over soon. Promise.”

“How?” asks Tara. She gestures at the ruins behind them. “We can’t get back.”

“There’s another way,” says Lilah. “I think, anyway. Once we get to the contact point, there’s a door that leads back to hell proper.”

“Great.”

Lilah smirks, but it’s as close to warm as she’s ever been. “We need to continue on to that point though. It’s the only way.”

“How very convenient.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, this was not my plan. None of this…” There’s a moment of awkwardness as Lilah straightens again.

There’s only one path out of the cavern. Just when Tara is feeling herself again, she’s all out of choices. So there’s really nothing to do except to continue. Whatever may be waiting for them next.

* * *

“I didn’t really do much of that sort of thing when I was alive,” says Lilah suddenly. They’ve walked for a bit and it’s shaping up to be a fairly ordinary tunnel.

Tara glances at her but Lilah is looking down. She does the same, able to guess what the lawyer means. She doesn’t know whether dead people can get tired… but this definitely feels like the real thing.

“Maybe death changes things,” Lilah continues. “Or… Perhaps I didn’t see the point in it. I liked _using_ intimacy. I liked the power I got from it. Women never did have much of that, not where I’m from.” She flashes Tara a smile. “Should have sought out some witches, shouldn’t I?”

Tara really doesn’t know what to say to this. She racks her mind for something, then tries to figure out how to change the subject and goes with the first thing she can think of.“Your contract. The one with your employers, I mean. Does it even bind you here?”

Lilah stares at her for a few long moments, making Tara wonder whether she’ll get angry. But she shrugs, and again she’s looking so very painfully casual. “It’s complicated.”

“If you disobeyed…”

“It wouldn’t be a great idea.” Another shrug. “You’re not the only one who could spend the New Year in a hell dimension.”

“I’m starting to think I really shouldn’t be doing this,” says Tara sardonically.

Lilah snorts. “If you really want to get away, there’s another path you can take,” she says. “There’s the one that leads to the real world, where the connection is formed. And another one, that leads straight back to hell. The real hell, that is. Trying to get back to limbo? You’ll have to go through the second one either way.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She can’t keep the suspicion out of her voice.

“Because -“ says Lilah, then cuts herself off suddenly. She closes her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s what I need to say,” she says eventually. “To get you to follow me.”

* * *

Of course, they’re faced with one last obstacle.

A pit of fire. Just what Tara needs.

* * *

“We need to jump,” says Lilah.

“ _What_?”

“Well, there’s meant to be a bridge but clearly the denizens of hell haven’t felt in the mood to provide one.”

“It’s too far,” she says. The gap has to be at least five feet, and the flames beneath are hissing. The edges of the rocks on the other side hardly look stable either.

“Then use your magic.”

“ _You can’t just_ -“ Tara takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the inevitable smirk. “I don’t even know why my magic is working, but it’s not particularly reliable. And it’s not as strong as it usually is. Levitation requires a lot of energy and self-levitation is beyond me so unless you want to continue on your own…”

“That won’t do,” says Lilah. “How about creating a bridge?”

“What, just magick some stones into place?”

Lilah nods.

Tara rolls her eyes. In doing so, she focuses on the pit of fire. As conduits go, fire is pretty much perfect - like a ready-made fuel. “There’s one spell - the Ritual of Cherufe. It warps fire into ice. Usually you’d use candles but…”

“- we’re not exactly short on fire.”

She nods, examining the ground. It’s dusty, and the thin sheen is ideal to make signs on. “Don’t suppose you keep a stick hidden wherever your papers are?”

“No.”

Tara kneels on the ground, gesturing Lilah to stand aside. She closes her eyes for a moment, summoning the relevant memories. She’d always had a good head for spells. Perhaps she never would have had Willow’s raw power, but when it came to _knowing_ magic, there is no one who matches Tara. She sketches a pentagram with her grubby finger and adds the specific lines and runes to the edge, before adding a small latinate stabiliser to the bottom. Then she steps gingerly into the pentacle.

“You’ll have to be fast once I conjure the spirit,” she says, hoping spirits could even be summoned here. “I won’t be able to hold it for long.”

“You’re sure the ice will hold?” asks Lilah dubiously.

Tara gives a thin smile. “I thought you can’t die here.”

That earns her a scowl.

“All right then,” she mutters, and recites the incantation quickly and confidently, waving her hands in a manner reminiscent to a conductor, before throwing her head up in expectance of the spirit - even though there isn’t much reason to expect it to come from above or anywhere at all.

But a prickle of energy and a gasp from Lilah tells her that the spell is working. After a moment, she looks down to see that the fire has transfigured itself to a single ice platform.

Lilah gives her an uncertain look, but she takes a quick run and bounds on to the platform, skittering dangerously on the surface but jumping on immediately. She lands at the edge of the other side and almost tips backwards, but after peddling furiously with her arms she manages to fall onto her knees, before instantly raising herself again and beckoning to Tara.

“Come on!”

Tara takes another deep breath and inhales a lot of soot for her trouble. The ice looks rather flimsy, especially with the fearsome flames licking at its bottom. Well, no time like the present. Besides, a fall to a fiery undeath would certainly be one way out of her current dilemma.

She runs forwards and jumps on to the platform, landing with both feet and pausing. She can see through the ice, can see the flames leap at her. After teetering for just a moment, she summons her courage and jumps again, falling against Lilah and taking them both to the ground.

They lie on each other. Lilah looks winded, but quickly gives a cheeky grin.

“Skipping straight to the good parts, are we?”

Tara groans and rolls off. She lies on her back staring at the jumble of rocks above, wondering whether this day will ever end.

* * *

They’re in a room of some kind. It’s lit by a single torch, which makes Tara wonder where all the light in the taverns came from. Hell has different lighting rules, she supposes. She can’t make out the corners, and Lilah has pried the torch from the wall to illuminate stairs.

“This is just the antechamber,” says Lilah. “What matters is up those stairs.”

Tara just looks at her.

“Come on,” says Lilah. Tara has to stay close to see anything, and the stone steps don’t look particularly safe. It’s another narrow path that curves around with steps that are slightly to high to be comfortable and uneven enough to be dangerous. She has to stare at her feet where the flickering flame shows her where to step. They don’t speak.

The room at the top is somewhat better lit. That’s mainly by the glow of a portal of some kind - with tendrils of silver spinning around on the frame and spiralling off the edge. And behind it, an altar of some kind. A stone that shines green.

“What…”

“It’s linked to you,” says Lilah as they step forwards.

“To me?”

“Once you reach in.”

Tara looks around for another way out, but there’s nothing except the portal.

“We need to find the moment of the spell,” says Lilah. “In your time stream -“

“But what you want after my death.”

Lilah shakes her head. “The time stream is… everything. It’s who created you, what effects you had on the world. You live on in Willow’s magic. That’s why this’ll work. Then you step through and touch the stone. That makes the connection.”

Tara hesitates. “You said there’d be another way. A way out of this.”

A nod. “There is. But behind the portal - there’s the stone you touch to make the connection. You do have a way out.”

“And if I decide not to help?”

Lilah shrugs. “You’ll see the truth of your choice in the stream. Then you can decide what to do.”

“My decision, eh?”

No answer.

She stretches out and lets her hand run through the portal.

* * *

She stared into the time stream, the visions and voices washing over her in a ferocious mess. Glimpses of people connected to her, as far as she can tell - a younger version of her father standing over a cot, her cousin laughing at something she can’t see, a girl who looks like her mother sipping at coffee.

_She’s growing so -_

_Norman Lamond said he’d prop up_ -

 _It’s in the bag for the Rams_ -

But it isn’t just the past. She sees Willow again and again - and not just the Willow she had known but an older Willow too. A Willow who had a bright future - sometimes with Buffy at her side, sometimes without. Willow with friends, enemies, lovers… Xander frowning at a man with handsome curls, holding a flashlight tightly. Buffy pressed with her back against the wall, a bruise covering her brow as she groans quietly.

 _I can’t give you up_. _Not after Dortmund_ -

 _The Gatwick drones changed everything. Now that everyone knows about vampires_ -

 _Dawn, it’s not safe. Please, come back, let’s talk about this. You don’t need to do it on your_ -

And a voice piercing through. A familiar one. Spike.

 _Something’s brewing and it’s so big, ugly and damned, it makes you and me look like little bitty puzzle pieces_.

Tara tries to hold on to the voice. She feels, instinctively, that it matters.

His eyes are wild and he stares at someone out of sight. Maybe it’s Buffy.

And his voice says one more thing. _You’re gonna need help_.

* * *

“There it is,” mutters Lilah.

Tara whirls around. “ _That’s_ it?” She has felt the darkness. Whatever it is… Whatever Willow did, she suddenly knows it was necessary. She can’t undo this spell, she just can’t. Consequences be damned.

The First. A primal evil, indeed. One that Willow had -

She has to get out of here.

“If we do this,” says Tara, pleading, “we’ll ruin everything. God, Lilah, can’t you see? Don’t you care?”

That makes something break in Lilah’s face. But the mask is back in an instant. “I _don’t_ care. And I got past appeals to God a long time ago.”

“You do care,” says Tara, not sure if she believes it or if she wants to convince herself of it. Because she’s begun seeing Lilah as a human and she can’t - she _won’t_ \- think of her as a monster, but now more than ever she just needs to _get through_ …

Lilah hesitates for a moment. Then she pushes Tara in the back towards the stone. “I’m sorry. But I don’t have a choice.”

* * *

“You don’t have to do this!” shouts Tara, struggling furiously. But Lilah’s grasp is surprisingly strong and she pulls her wrist towards the flickering stone. She tries to reach for her magic but she’s exerted herself too much. There has to be some way to bend the torch’s flames or to -

Lilah lets out a gasp of pain and she’s staring down at where she’s grabbing Tara’s wrist. Tara is burning her through the touch, one of the first spells she mastered. She can only imagine how painful it is but Lilah does not let go, tears in her eyes but still pulling her hand down. Tara starts muttering under her breath, pouring her magic into the stones below, loosening them and making them crumble from within. But it takes time, time she doesn’t have.

Her hand is inches away from the stone.

She can’t resist any longer so she does the only thing she could think of and steps forward to kiss Lilah. It has been a long time since Willow. It has been a long time since she has been this close to anything. To anyone.

But there’s no real time to think - no real time for anything at all except to get away from here, to end this. She’s managed to disorientate Lilah enough to pull her away from the stone and in a natural continuation of the movement her hand makes a gesture towards the floor. It takes all her energy to even make a dent and for a single, horrible moment as they lean ever closer into each other she thinks she won’t be strong enough. She pulls out every last tendril of her power, not caring what happens past this moment.

And the floor comes crashing down.

* * *

The thing is… That is that. There’s nothing else to do. Nothing else to say.

This is how their story ends.

* * *

Except that they’re no more dead than they were before Tara ripped up the floor and made them tumble through, before they landed in a mess of dust and stone that leaves scratches and bruises and they need time to crawl away from, before Tara makes a small light hover in the air above her head with power she didn’t know she still had.

They don’t speak. They just sit on their respective piles of rocks.

* * *

“We’re stuck here. In an antechamber, with the path leading back completely blocked off and the path ahead collapsed,” says Tara, dully.

Lilah still has her eyes closed, but eventually she answers. “That’s not entirely true.”

Tara stares to where the lawyer is once again flattened against the wall. That once lovely suit is pretty much in tatters by now, the scarf isn’t looking much better. She’s grubby and grime-cladden and hardly an impressive figure any more, but right now she’s all Tara has.

And Tara wants her to explain herself. Now.

“There’s a crack,” says the lawyer and slaps the wall to her right. Tara looks where she’s gesturing. And hidden in the corner, there is indeed another opening.

* * *

Lilah opens her eyes to see Tara’s expression of fury.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It’s what I do. It’s what I always do.”

It’s not like Tara hadn’t been warned. Not like she hadn’t known.

Tara makes a move towards the door, and for a moment Lilah thinks she’s going to leave her there.

* * *

The thing is, whatever Lilah has done, Tara can hardly leave her there. She has enough of a measure of the woman by now that there’s more to the woman than the cold veneer, more than this last trick. This series of tricks and misdirections, because of course now Tara realises how carefully Lilah chose her words. No lies. Only half-truths.

She’s all Tara has.

“Come on,” says Tara.

Lilah’s expression is blank. The silence stretches between them.

“Lilah,” she says. “Come on.”

At that, Lilah’s gaze meets her own. And she straightens up, somehow, again. And she follows Tara towards the gap in the stones that leads to another world entirely. But before Tara can cross the threshold, Lilah stretches out her arm and blocks her way.

It takes Lilah a moment to say what she wants to.

“If you hadn’t needed to distract me…” The question hangs unfinished in the air.

Tara imagines testing out either response, figuring out which one is the truth and which one dies in her throat. But neither feels right. Not yet.

“I guess we’ve got all the time we need to figure that out.”

There’s a ghost of a smirk on Lilah’s face as she withdraws her arm. “Let’s rule hell.”

“Merry Christmas.”

The smirk becomes a real one and it’s the last thing Tara sees before she steps through the crack. And as she starts the next part of their journey, she can just about hear Daft Punk playing in the distance.


End file.
